by Aldrea Alien
Although she was perhaps far more giving and tender than she’d been during their past encounters, it wasn’t the same. Obvious differences aside, the passion he felt in the hound’s arms had no comparison with Authril. He might as well compare a bonfire to a candle. Both could keep a body warm, but only one would heat through to the core.
Tears trickled down his face. Dylan dashed them from his skin and clutched harder to Authril’s waist, hoping she hadn’t noticed.
He wanted Tracker. There was little point in denying it. Dylan craved the man’s touch, his warmth, the gentle rasp of his breath. Most of all, he missed the fluttering in his chest that happened every time they kissed.
But he couldn’t give in to that desire. Not without getting hurt again.
A sob wracked his body as Authril reached her height. Dylan choked the sound down, smothering it with what he hoped sounded akin to him tipping over the edge. He wasn’t even certain if he was capable of climax in his current state.
Dylan uttered no objection as she tumbled off him to lie at his side, didn’t think he could speak right then without his voice wavering.
Authril remained silent at his side, as she’d always done before he came to prefer the hound’s touch, her breathing remained just irregular enough to tell him she was still awake.
He gathered his strength. One of them would have to go back out on watch. “Why don’t you get some sleep?” He dressed swiftly before she could formulate an argument against him. She made no move, not even as he exited the tent.
Dylan froze just outside the tent flap.
A trio of horses stood on the edge of their little camp quietly chewing on the needles of a low pine branch. He glanced around, half expecting bandits to leap from the shadows. Where had the horses come from? And why hadn’t Authril told him they were there? She must have heard them approaching, animals this big couldn’t just sneak up on anyone, especially not an elf.
He turned his magic on the campfire, pouring new life into the dying light. Flames sputtered from the embers, throwing flickering shadows over their campsite.
The horses snorted at the sudden burst of illumination, but they remained in place. Reins secured them to the tree. In the firelight, he caught the outlines of saddles atop two of the animals. Where are your riders? They couldn’t be far.
There seemed to be extra movement on the opposite side of the unsaddled horse, which Dylan now realised had two legs too many. Their black boots blended well with the shadows, but not enough for Dylan to lose sight of them.
The thin sheen of his shield flickered around him for the heartbeat it took to turn the barrier invisible. He cleared his throat and extended his hand. He’d rather not harm the animals, but he wasn’t about to have their intruder think that. “Who’s there?”
The figure paused, then silently carried on with whatever task they deemed more important than answering Dylan’s question. There was a flash of russet hair in the firelight before they disappeared behind another horse. The animal’s saddle slipped out of sight.
“You would do well to answer me,” Dylan snapped. “I’m a spellster, you know. I could do terrible things to you. Like…” What was it people feared about them? “I could make your blood boil in your veins or turn you into some hideous creature.”
“It is a bit late for those threats, yes?” a familiar voice replied. A face appeared beneath the horse’s neck. “And I believe I am already the latter in your eyes.”
“Track?” Dylan glanced back at the tent. Was this another dream? Would he wake to find himself still ensconced in his blankets? “You came back?”
“My apologies for my lateness.” He patted the neck of the horse he was currently unsaddling. “Haggling for this one took a little longer than I planned.”
“I thought you’d—” All this time, he’d travelled back to Riverton to get horses? Not chase down the other spellsters? Would he have had enough time to do both? Dylan bit his lip. One of the women would’ve been able to answer that better than he, but it sounded doubtful. “Why now?”
“I…” Tracker ducked under the horse’s neck and stepped out of the shadow. His expression was stiff. His gaze kept darting towards the tent they’d shared only a few days ago.
He heard Authril. There wasn’t any way the man could’ve ignored it, not with his superior elven hearing. Had knowing stung? That uncomfortable knot twisting in Dylan’s gut told him he didn’t care.
“Well,” Tracker continued. “Simply put, we lost a day in our dear hedgewitch’s service. I merely thought you might wish to expedite your journey to Wintervale, since you are so intent on reaching it.”
Dylan indicated the horses with the jerk of his chin. “You could’ve bought those at any time, couldn’t you? But I suppose that would’ve cut short playtime with your toy.”
The hound hung his head, throwing his face back into shadow. “The only one who sees you as a toy is the one you just bedded.” The words came softly. Slowly. As if Dylan was a frightened child in need of reassurance.
He shook his head. What the man said might be true, but he wasn’t about to admit it. Nor could he accept this calm demeanour was anything except another mask. One he was determined to break. “Is that a touch of jealousy that I hear?”
Tracker tensed. The motions were subtle. Controlled. The minute flex of a hand wanting to ball, the faint jerk that spoke of shoulders squaring. “I am not jealous,” he whispered, the words audible only because of the surrounding quiet. “I am furious. There is a difference.”
“Furious?” Dylan echoed. “After what you did? You don’t get to be furious.”
“She is using you.” That voice… Still soft. Still calm.
And far too logical for Dylan’s tastes.
“Like you did?” he snapped, searching for a way to lever open the cracks he knew were lying beneath this facade. Any pain would do so long as the man felt something. “I am well aware of what I’ll lose once I’m leashed again. If she’s using me, then fine. I’m using her, too.”
“I used you?” The hound glowered at him, the gloom of the low fire throwing menacing shadows across the man’s face.
Dylan stepped back, swallowing the lump of fear in his throat. The way Tracker advanced was eerily similar to his nightmare. The lack of bloodthirstiness in the man’s eyes did little to quell his unease.
“That is rather like the knife calling the dagger sharp, yes?” Tracker muttered.
Dylan turned his head, refusing to acknowledge the man had said a word. It was childish, he knew that, but if he spoke further, he didn’t think it would take long before his voice broke. He wasn’t about to show anymore weakness in front of the hound.
On the edge of his vision, he caught Tracker nodding. “As I recall, I never forced you into doing anything you did not desire.”
Had it even been what he desired? Dylan shook his head. “Ness was right,” he mumbled. He had never attempted to sleep with a man before the hound. “You did something to me.” If Tracker hadn’t persisted, that night never would’ve gone as far as it did.
“We have done several things.” The words came briskly, the calm facade not quite returning in full. “All with your approval, I might add. Which thing in particular are we talking about?”
“I…” Dylan swallowed the bitterness burning in the back of his throat. “You made me feel things that weren’t true.”
“I did nothing of the sort,” the hound scoffed. “Everything you experienced was real.”
“You made me believe I found you attractive, that I wanted you.”
Tracker bowed his head and sighed. “That is not how it works, Dylan. The desire you felt was already within you. All I ever did was help you see what you have been denying to yourself. Everything else was your doing.”
“So it was a completely different man who threw himself at me that night at the tower?”
The hound flinched as if he’d been slapped. His shoulders hunched, the chink in his facade finally revealing itse
lf.
Dylan aimed another verbal strike at the same spot, seeking to cause pain at any cost. “I told you I had no interest in what you had to offer—several times, in fact—and you persisted.”
Tracker’s gaze snapped up, molten with outrage. “And just who chose to continue it when I backed off? I gave you a way to stop me. You were the one who decided to continue, not I.”
“Yes,” Dylan agreed. “But—”
The hound scoffed. He paced before the fire, all semblance of calm well and truly shattered. “You wish to speak of being used? Then answer me this: Who was it that came to my tent in search of more, hmm?”
Dylan bit the inside of his cheek. As much as he wished it, he couldn’t pin that on the man, not without a very gnarled way of thinking.
Tracker shook his head. Clearly, Dylan’s silence was answer enough. The affront on his face melted into bitterness. “Do you think I was unaware of how you only sought me out first when you had no other choice? That you always preferred to ride me during those times, no doubt to satisfy your desire of the one thing you could not get from her. If you truly believe I was using you, how do you think your actions looked to me? To them?” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the tents. “To her?”
Shaking, Dylan balled his hands. That’s not how they saw it. They’d all believed Tracker had deeper feelings for him. Played us all for fools. Authril had been right in that. “Well, you don’t have to worry about me using you anymore.”
“Dylan…” Sighing, Tracker halted before him. “There is still time to change our path. You could reunite with your kin and leave Demarn, no leashing required.”
No, I can’t. If he could trust Tracker not to send his fellow hounds after them once the man was beyond his reach, then maybe. But even then, Tracker must have realised that the other spellsters wouldn’t have stayed where they were, not when they knew a hound was nearby. How could he ever hope to find them without help?
Dylan straightened. It was too late for going back. There was only Wintervale and leashing for him. Maybe it’s better this way. “You might want to find alternative accommodations tonight.” It was nasty and spiteful to bring up what had just transpired in the tent with Authril. He knew that. He didn’t care. “Unless you don’t mind sharing with Authril.” She’d not exactly been amenable to the man when they were entangled with the prostitute back in Oldmarsh. And they seemed to circle each other like tom cats ever since Whitemeadow.
Tracker wrinkled his nose. He eyed the tent with visible distaste. “No, I am sure there is a dry enough patch under one of these trees. If I am forced to share a tent with that woman, I will kill her.”
“Of course you would,” Dylan snarled. “Because that’s the real Tracker, isn’t it? Under that charming facade and training, you’re nothing but a murdering, torturing bitch.”
Something flicked across Tracker’s face, pulling his features tight for a heartbeat or two before vanishing. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “That woman sees you as a toy.”
Dylan gritted his teeth. How dare the hound not acknowledge he’d been slighted. He shoved the man. “Don’t just stand there calmly talking when I insulted you.”
Tracker stepped back. Not a stumble, but something far more deliberate. It infuriated Dylan all the more. “I can act offended if it makes you feel better,” Tracker said. “But if that was truly meant to be insulting, then you need to work on them. I was called far worse in my training.”
“Of course you were,” Dylan muttered. Everything bad always seemed to be worse during the hound’s training. Shaking his head, he turned from the man. “If you’re not sleeping there—” He indicated the tent with a jerk of his head. “—then go find somewhere else. I’m going to check the perimeter.”
“Dylan.” Tracker’s voice was barely louder than a whisper. Nevertheless, the word hit Dylan’s ears like the dull tempo of a drum. “I am sorry for how you found out. Truly. I wish I had told you sooner. That you still think I could mean you harm… It pains me greatly.”
“Good,” he muttered under his breath, trying to keep the wetness choking him at bay. Why should he be the only one suffering? If the hound hurt, then it was a self-inflicted injury. Louder still, he managed to grate, “Your apology is nothing but words to me.”
Silence sucked at the absence of his voice, stuffing his ears. Even the low pops and hiss of the fire didn’t seem loud enough.
Dylan risked a peek over his shoulder. He half expected to find the hound had disappeared again. For good. But no, there the man stood. Like a beaten puppy.
“I gathered as much,” Tracker said. “But you should still consider returning to your friends. You have all lost too much already. If you are leashed, they will lose more. You will lose everything.”
I know. If he could just trust Tracker, then maybe he’d a chance at escaping a brief life as a leashed weapon. He wanted to so much, wanted to believe that someone was looking out for him. But he couldn’t and they weren’t.
“If you refuse to think of yourself,” the hound continued. “What of your dear Ness? I am sure your old lover would be all too happy for you to return.”
Dylan whirled on the man, his mind ablaze. A fireball ripped from his fingers, aimed straight for the hound.
Tracker barely flinched. Rather than moving to deflect or avoid the blast, he just stood there and allowed the fireball to part around him before it crashed into the ground.
The horses whinnied. They tugged at their restraints and lashed out with their hooves when they couldn’t get free. Tracker raced to their side. He grabbed the reins of one, stilling its head.
“How dare you,” Dylan growled. He flexed his fingers, trying hard to keep them from balling again. Punching the hound wasn’t really an option, no matter how badly he wanted to. “You don’t get to speak of her like that. You know nothing about her.”
Tracker turned from his task of quietening the animals to face him. “I saw enough. I looked into those eyes and saw a lover’s betrayal.”
Old, bitter sorrow squeezed his chest. “Don’t you dare lie about that!”
Shock and comprehension drained all other emotion from the man’s face. “You did not know?”
Tears pricked Dylan’s eyes. He had noticed. He’d merely chosen to ignore it because love in the tower was risky and always ended with heartbreak. Gods, even leaving the tower didn’t guarantee it ended any other way. But he wasn’t about to tell the hound that. “I—”
“By the gods,” Marin yelled. “What’s all the racket about?”
Dylan swung about to find all three of the women standing outside their tents.
“Why do we suddenly have horses?” Authril asked. She scanned the shadows, standing wrapped in little more than a blanket and clutching her sword. “Are we under attack?”
“No,” Dylan said. “Tr—”
“Tracker?” Katarina added, stepping closer to them. Unlike the others, she was garbed in all but her belt pouches and apron. “You brought the horses?”
The hound inclined his head.
“You’ve got some nerve coming back,” Marin growled. She pushed the sleeves of her undershirt up, baring her forearms and went to storm across the sodden campsite. Katarina’s grip on the back of her clothes was the only thing stopping her.
If Tracker was intimidated by the display, he showed no sign. “Of course I came back. I cannot very well allow our dear spellster to enter Wintervale unescorted.”
Dylan snorted. As if the hound truly cared about his wellbeing that much. “I’m done with this.” He couldn’t stand here, listening the man, any longer. If Marin planned to thrash the elf, he wasn’t about to stand in her way. But that didn’t mean he wanted to watch either of them get hurt. “I’m going to check the perimeter.”
“Wait.” The hound grabbed Dylan’s sleeve as he went to leave. Those honey-coloured eyes were suddenly large and pleading. “Before we found your friends, I was trying to tell you that I—”
“
No.” Dylan pulled himself free. He didn’t want to hear anymore. He certainly didn’t want to continue this in front of others. “Don’t speak another word to me.”
“Why not?” the hound snapped back, sneering. “Afraid I might make you feel things?”
Dylan bit his lip, pretending that the pressure of his teeth digging into his skin was the reason tears trickled down his cheeks. Whatever they must to keep you under their control. His guardian had the right of it. She always did. And I almost fell for it.
He straightened his robe a little more viciously than it needed. Gullible, he was far too gullible. “I have already said everything I wish to say to you.”
It might have been a trick of the firelight, but the hound’s eyes seemed to dull. “As you like,” Tracker murmured.
The horse he rode swayed with every step, more so than Dylan recalled from his brief journey between Toptower and the army camp. That he rode perched behind the saddle rather than on it probably didn’t help. But the customary rider’s place was currently occupied by Authril.
Tracker rode alone at the head of their little group. He hadn’t spoken much over the last two days it had taken them to trek through the forest. The hound was clearly distancing himself from them. He slept tucked under a bush and wrapped up in his cloak. Even his meals were eaten apart from the rest.
Authril had returned to sleeping at Dylan’s side, perhaps feeling less vulnerable knowing any attempt on her life would have to be made in his presence. Even aboard the horses, she’d opted to share the animal with only him.
He recalled the first time they’d set off on their mounts. Tracker had held out his hand to Dylan, offering to assist him in sitting behind the saddle. Katarina had grabbed the man’s outstretched hand instead and swung herself onto the horse’s back.
For one flickering heartbeat of a moment, those honey-coloured eyes had turned his way and Dylan swore he caught a flash of hurt slide across the man’s face. Gone almost before it registered. Tracker had then singled out the docile, light brown horse Dylan now rode on as the calmer animal of the trio.